THE BODY IS A WEAPON.
fantasy oc / mv
Joined May 2013
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wants to pull away, he can. it'll just add one more evidence that this man before you isn't your craig.
"the bombing? i think whether or not you dealt with them sooner, they're always going to find a way to retaliate one way or another." you say, quiet in the hallway. it's
deserted.
softer than the silence, you murmur, "you're really not my craig." | @dormidilecte.
head back and groan. fucking *finally* they stopped.
"thank you," you tilt your head towards her now, hand moving to take the one that's been tugging on you. your voice is only slightly hoarse, smiling tiredly. "very smart of you. saved me a lot of headache too, pipsqueak—good
girl."
you squeeze her hand.
"tell you what, since you've been responsible, you can ask the kitchens for more cake after dinner—back at the palace." | @dormidilecte.
CRAIG!"
you feel exhausted all of a sudden, frustrated beyond belief, and it shows in the tight lines of your face. whatever casual ease you often carry yourself with is gone. you're hurting, confused, and a little afraid.
"...and i think i have a concussion," you list over to
one side—swaying a bit, "so if you both keep yelling, i *will* have a brain bleed. unless if that's what you both want, be my fucking guest." | @dormidilecte.
craig away with some of your actual strength; your arm coming around carla to hold her up and close to you. at least no guns are involved now. you hold your other arm out, palm facing craig because you're not sure if he'll try to attack again.
"can everybody calm down for a few
goddamn seconds and *EXPLAIN TO ME* what the fuck is going on!?" you bark, loud enough that the aftermath of it leaves a ringing in the air. now you're livid. "what is *wrong* with you, craig!?" | @dormidilecte.
everything? balmung must've heard something, must've sensed there's trouble. is this the time to be having squabbles? but they're speaking over each-other loudly, too fast, can't interject, your head hurts and you still feel slightly nauseated and people are whispering in the
distance and—
"shut up," you groan, "everybody *shut the fuck up!* please!"
the sun is too warm. you're sweating.
"let me—just let me think for a second," you close your eyes, "okay... can we all just—promise to not hurt each-other for now? keep a cool head?" | @dormidilecte.
tell that it's just an excuse for you to stand in front of carla, not to entirely intervene whatever *this* is or go over to his side.
"well, i mean," you look at carla, "possession is kind of... unlikely, no? i mean, c'mon—" a nervous chuckle. "craig's not gonna let something
like that happen to him!"
you turn towards craig.
"and i was right, wasn't i? you were—you had a bad day. right? you did? that's why you're all cranky and trigger-happy." | @dormidilecte.
either means concussion or something worse like *empathy* for the zealots.
"...goddess grant them mercy, for their unfaithfulness shall be cleansed from their souls once they set their eyes upon You in the great kingdom of heaven."
still out of breath, you pray. only until your
panting subsided you start the giving of breaths, a burial rite the church used to perform—one of the only things untainted by extremist doctrine. the sun lays warm on your skin. you wonder if that's Her glancing at you.
you leave soon after, off to find craig. | @dormidilecte.
people of the bombers, and by the time ten minutes passed, another explosion. further down your area.
cussing, you run as fast as you can and yell as loud as your throat allows you. even as you were taking down one zealot who was ready to explode (ignoring how hesitant they had
seem when they were about to pull the pin), you *still* holler out to people. stay inside, don't crowd, disperse disperse disperse—another explosion. this time, as you run down there, the streets have mostly emptied out.
there should only be a handful now. | @dormidilecte.
much as you can with you. this isn't just revenge, this is them being afraid of not seeing the gates of heaven because they have *failed* to take craig or you down. atonement. they're trying to atone by—
a loud boom pierces the air.
"you can't deal with them alone, you'll be
too late." you feel sick. "they're too spread out—craig, they're suicide bombing. we've to cover more ground."
you skid to a stop, pull him to you and press your lips against his forehead.
"i'll take west side. we'll reconvene at the downtown gates after this?" | @dormidilecte.